


Not as She seems

by gowerstreet



Series: Recruitment of the Half-Seen [3]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cabinlock, Carolyn cares more than she'd like to admit, Comfort/Angst, Domestic Violence, F/M, Friendship, Martin Crieff Whump, Protective Mycroft, cabinlock AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gowerstreet/pseuds/gowerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All OK? MC</p><p>She responded immediately. Take the next left and park behind the skip.  A</p><p>On my way. MC</p><p>Anthea keeps her identity secret for a reason. Martin is the first to discover why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hiding in near sight

**Author's Note:**

> Rated Mature due to language and violence.

“Andi? Andi! C’mon love, let me in.” The drunk banged on the door with increasing volume. ‘Andi’ was clearly ignoring his pleas, with justification in Martin’s eyes. He sighed and checked the clock on GERTI’s dashboard. Most unlike Anthea to be late. She was usually at the kerb as he turned the corner. This felt wrong. 

The stranger continued to pound the communal door of Anthea’s block, his charm evaporating with each blow of his fist on the paintwork. Martin’s mobile was in his hand before he realised.

All OK? MC

She responded immediately. Take the next left and park behind the skip. A

On my way. MC

“Catch.” Martin barely had a minute before a nylon back pack was flung at him from an impossibly small window about eight feet up. He slung it behind him into GERTI.

The small window was forced to its limits as Anthea fed herself through it, barefoot, wrapped in her Burberry mac. Martin focused on the brickwork as she rearranged herself on the window ledge, gauging the safest way down to street level. “Want a hand?” he offered.

“If you would.” He positioned himself under the window and held up his arms.

There was a whoosh and a thud. The impact sprawled him backwards over GERTI’s bonnet. They froze for a moment, carefully staring at anything except each other, before Anthea attempted to scramble off. Martin stopped her.

“Let me. This alley’s littered with all kinds.” He fumbled in his pocket and pressed his key fob. The passenger door swung open.

“So that’s where you are, you slut!” Martin realised that he’d never seen her look frightened before. Her cover was blown. This was clearly an ex, who was storming down the alley towards them. “Sucking off cabbies now, are you?”

Martin shot her a reassuring look before sliding his arms under her legs. She wrapped her arms around his neck and transferred into GERTI with the minimum of fuss. He slammed the door with this foot, setting off the taxi’s security lock. If he wasn’t back in the driving seat within three minutes, an alert would be sent directly to Mycroft Holmes. He glanced at the windscreen reflection, and prepared himself for the onslaught.

“ Get out of my way, please.”

“No chance. That slut owes me.” He loomed towards Martin, flexing his fists.

“I think you’ll find that is not the case. Get out of my way.” Martin turned to open GERTI’s door. Two minutes fifteen seconds.

“I said. No chance, mate. I’m going to have words with Andi, and you’re going to let me.” He pulled Martin’s arm up behind his back and slammed his face into GERTI’s bonnet. Martin lay there, winded. A thin trickle of blood slid from his temple. Thirty seconds.

A voice boomed next to his ear “Give me the keys.” A layer of scotch-tainted spit hit his face. Martin shook his head.

“Won’t work. ‘S printlocked. “

“Just as well I’ve Plan B, then.” A flash of dull silver gleamed in the half light.

A single red light flashed in the darkened dashboard. “Too late. All locked out now.”

Anthea looked up from her phone as Martin’s limp body was tossed to the ground, his head banging on the kerbstone. Her husband turned around and leered at her through the window.


	2. The limits of power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthea winced at the sudden influx of noise. She was huddled on the back seat, her blood-stained feet peeping out. The dazed, frozen look in her eyes nearly pulled Mycroft to pieces.
> 
> “How’s Crieff?” she asked.
> 
> The immediate aftermath of the events in the alley.

A bubble of concern shot through Mycroft when the texts reached him. 

CAA alarm triggered at 0821 in Berwick Mews NW1 - GERTI

Trapped in GERTI. MC down. A

“Richardson?”

“Sir?”

“Code seven. Blue.”

“Follow me, Sir.”

The Jaguar flowed through the traffic with barely legal speed, its path smoothed by Mycroft’s electronic manipulation of the traffic lights. The refraction of blue lights flickered across every surface as they pulled in across the street from Berwick Mews.

“Stay here, Richardson. Please clear my diary for the next three hours. No exceptions.”

“Certainly, Sir.” He watched Mycroft head across the road before taking out his phone.

Crieff lay to one side, flanked by two paramedics, who were easing him onto a stretcher with a comfortable, practiced haste. A plain clothed officer, who seemed slightly familiar, was briefing two PCs as they sealed off an area with incident tape. He looked up as Mycroft reached him. “Can I help you, Sir?”

An ID card was flashed in front of him. “Mycroft Holmes. Home Office.”

“DI Dimmock, Sir. Am I permitted to ask about your involvement?”

Mycroft noted his cautious deference. “The individuals concerned are Martin Crieff, my driver, and Andrea Milson, my PA. I received two texts approximately twelve minutes ago which informed me of this incident. One from Ms Milson and one from the vehicle’s security system.”

“I see. Then perhaps, Mr Holmes, you could enlighten us as how we can override this system to free Ms Milson, as we are on the verge of calling on the Fire Brigade to take a more physical approach to it.”

“That will not be necessary. If I may?” He gestured beyond the tape.

“Be my guest.” Dimmock lifted the tape and ushered him on. Mycroft pulled out his phone and typed in a nine digit code. There was a hiss and a click as GERTI’s doors swung open.

Anthea winced at the sudden influx of noise. She was huddled on the back seat, her blood-stained feet peeping out. The dazed, frozen look in her eyes nearly pulled Mycroft to pieces.

“How’s Crieff?” she asked.

“Unconscious, but still with us.The paramedics are preparing him for the ambulance.” There was little point in spouting platitudes. “What about you?”

“A few scrapes. Grazed my feet on the windowsill up there.” And so shocked she could barely acknowledge it, he thought.

Dimmock appeared over Mycroft’s shoulder. “We will need a detailed statement later, Ms Milson, but that can wait for now. Could you give us an outline of what happened, please? We want to get this man.” Anthea nodded.

“His name is Ade Wilson, and he came looking for me. When Crieff bundled me in here for safety, he was attacked.”

“Why?” asked Dimmock.

Mycroft tried not to roll his eyes at him. “That’s what violent estranged husbands do,” he replied. Anthea nodded, in spite of herself.

Dimmock cleared his throat."Ah. Can you tell me what happened next, Ms Milson?"

"Ade attacked Crieff over GERTI's bonnet, trying to get his keys. When that didn't work, he threw him to the ground and came over, trying to force the doors several times. When the sirens started, he disappeared towards the Tube." 

Mycroft studied his phone briefly, then sent a text. "If you arrange to get this vehicle transported to Scotland Yard, I'll send you the relevant CCTV images as soon as my desk team release them." 

“Certainly. I’ll speak to you both later, at UCH. I'll let them know you’re coming,” said Dimmock, and headed off to speak to his team.

Behind them, the paramedics transferred a blanket-shrouded shape into the ambulance, slammed themselves in then swerved out into the building traffic, lights and sirens blaring. Mycroft scanned the front seat of GERTI until he spotted the black rucksack. Within seconds, he had it open on the floor and extracted a pair of ballerina flats. He waited as Anthea uncurled herself and allowed him to fit them to her feet. “We’ll follow in the Jaguar. You OK to walk?”

“Slowly,” she replied, “ if you take my bag.” Every step showed on her face, but they made it across the road and into the back of the waiting car.

“Where to?” asked Richardson.

“UCH. Sirens and lights please.”

“Certainly.” Richardson accelerated away , more of a pilot than an driver. “ETA seven minutes in these conditions.”

“Good.” The smoked glass partition slid up. Anthea shrank back against his shoulder and began to shake, trying to stay upright. Sometimes shock and trauma made a person older, but not her. Huddled and shivering ,she seemed to be barely out of her teens. A universe away from the calm, efficient individual whom he had come to trust and respect. “Shh,” he whispered over her head. “This is not your fault. It will get sorted. You’re safe now.”  
But for how long? she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and questions are always welcome (hint,hint)


	3. Friends in good places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ....“Enough. You are not responsible for the actions of others, good or bad. I've met generals with less fortitude than you."
> 
> "God help the army in that case." He had to smile at her self-deprecation.
> 
> “I didn't say they were ours..."
> 
> Anthea in A&E. Elsewhere in the hospital, someone is waiting for Martin to wake up.

Anthea's composure strengthened as they approached the hospital. Mycroft gradually released her when they drew to a halt outside A&E.

A brief, brittle smile flashed over her face." I'll be alright. You've got a department to run. "

“More like a government these days, but they need to cope on their own for a few hours." He consulted his mobile then slipped it away. "Later, however, we will need to discuss the implications of today's events." Anthea nodded. "But you've got nothing to fear, either from me or that particular excuse for humanity who threatened you both this morning."

“I’m sorry for the disruption I have caused.”

Mycroft frowned at her attitude. “Enough. You are not responsible for the actions of others, good or bad. I've met generals with less fortitude than you."

"God help the army in that case." He had to smile at her self-deprecation.

“I didn't say they were ours. Now I will see you by and by. I have some calls to make."

A&E was noisy and chaotic, but the sheer busyness made Anthea feel safe. A sharp-eyed junior doctor spotted her half-concealed wince, and promptly ordered an x-ray of her left wrist

“I’m wasting your time,” she mumbled to the nurse whilst a tubular support was applied.

“Look, love, the pissheads who clog us up every weekend waste our time. You haven’t.” She folded over the edge of the bandage. “You’re not the first person to take a flying leap out of a dangerous relationship, and you won’t be the last. You’re lucky to get away with a few scrapes and a hairline wrist fracture.”

Anthea, tried to grin, and almost managed it. ”I’ll be OK.”

“Oh, I know you will. You’ve clearly got friends in good places.” The nurse snipped off a loose thread from the bandage. “Let them help you.”

“I will.”

Richardson appeared as the curtains were drawn aside. “Any news?” Anthea asked.

“He’s comfortably unconscious. Concussion, a few cracked ribs and bruising..”

“Will they let me see him?”

“They’ve moved him upstairs, courtesy of the Dark Lord’s influence.” Richardson smirked. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen a consultant move so fast to locate a bed.” He watched her stand, ready to lend support if it was needed. It wasn’t. “How are your feet?”

“Sore but improving. The painkillers are kicking in.”

“Good. Now they’ve let you go, you’re expected upstairs. Floor four, room twelve.”

It was a small room with simple furnishings. The harshest elements of daylight were filtered into a warm glow by the blinds. A comfortingly nondescript landscape hung on the wall opposite the bed.

Martin’s face was an obscenity of bruises and dressings against the pillows. His right arm was held in a cast from armpit to wrist. His left hand held a vitals sensor and a cannula attached to a drip stand.

He wasn’t alone, however. A stout woman with carefully sculpted silver hair sat next to his bed. Her hand rested next to his, the image of a concerned parent. Her head snapped around when the door opened.

“Mrs Crieff?” asked Anthea.

The older woman shot her a glare and held out a hand that was expecting to be shaken. “Ms Milson, my name is Carolyn Knapp-Shappey. Martin’s former employer and current landlady.”


	4. Reactions to Modern Chivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This wasn't your fight.” Was this defiance or guilt? Neither were particularly welcome.
> 
> “It became mine when he threatened you.”
> 
>  
> 
> Martin shows his hand. Anthea tries to conceal hers.

Anthea's eyes widened. Did Cri – Martin - not have anyone? She blinked, temporarily stunned. "My mistake. I'm Anthea Milson." She shook the outstretched hand. "I'm a colleague."  
"So I've heard." Carolyn smiled wryly. She turned back towards the bed. Anthea hovered near the door. "Would you mind if I sat down?"  
"If it will stop your vertical dithering, by all means. I don't bite too hard. "Anthea did as she was told.  
"Wake up, you chivalric berk." Carolyn's voice dripped with affectionate malice. "I've got better things to do than piddle about, waiting for you. As has the rest of the world."  
"Does his family know what's happened?" asked Anthea.  
"I understand that they have been informed, but the fact that they haven't appeared shows how little they can be bothered. Wokingham is hardly a world away, even by Southern Trains." Carolyn patted his hand. "I'm just off to speak to Mr Holmes, but I expect you to start imitating an intelligent life form by the time I get back."  
"It was nice to meet you, Mrs Knapp-Shappey,"  
The older woman left without turning around. "Hmm, perhaps," was the only reply she got as the door was firmly but carefully shut.

Anthea scooted into the vacated chair. She remained quiet and still for a few minutes and just stared at the unconscious man in front of her.

Eventually, the words refused to stay swallowed any longer. She leant forward and placed her hand next to his. “When you wake up, we need to have a talk about inappropriate risks. You're going to let me buy you coffee and I'm going to lay down some ground rules about how you avoid harm.”There. She'd said it. What now?

“No.” Less of a word, more of a rumble. Anthea frowned.What right had he....?  
“Welcome back, but 'No' to what?”  
“No to the ground rules. Yes to the coffee.”  
“Yes to both.”Hell, he could be frustrating sometimes. “Do you realise how bloody lucky you've been? How close you were to serious injury?”

“Somewhat. But he'd have done worse to you.”  
“This wasn't your fight.” Was this defiance or guilt? Neither were particularly welcome.  
“It became mine when he threatened you.” Well-meaning clumsiness sounded like pity when it stumbled out of his mouth.  
“Not the first time it's happened.”  
“It was, in my earshot. He meant to hurt you.” Blinking was awkward. How could his eyelashes feel bruised? “No-one deserves that.” Especially not her.  
“It's not for you to decide, Sir Lancelot.” Ouch.  
His eyes fixed on hers. “But it wouldn't stop me doing exactly the same again.”  
Nothing left to say. Her move.

The door opened quietly. A nurse. “Oh, good. You're back with us. I'll let Dr Spencer know.” She ducked back to allow Mycroft in.  
“Crieff, are you up to speaking to the police?”  
“Briefly, if the doctor will let me, Sir. Not so good on the writing, though.”  
Mycroft may have smiled, although a trick of the light could have been responsible. “Very well. They will be here presently to collect your statement. Anthea, may I have a few minutes?”  
“Certainly, sir.”  
She turned back to Martin. “I'll see you later?” she enquired.  
An eyebrow half disguised by bruising quirked. “Could be busy. I'll check the diary.”  
It was better than nothing, he supposed.


	5. It all comes down to Maslow's Hierarchy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are you doing all this?”
> 
> The look he gave her was impenetrable. “Because you need reminding that real men do not abuse their power."
> 
> Mycroft's solution begins to take shape.

“It all comes down to Maslow’s Hierarchy,” pronounced Mycroft. “My office cannot operate with the smoothness I have come to expect if your physical and emotional welfare continue to be at risk. Therefore, to remove this risk , I am willing to take steps, with your full agreement of course, to ensure that that state of affairs ceases now.” Anthea absorbed the words, realising his meaning came down to just two. He cared.

“Thank you, Sir.”

She was acknowledged by a nod before he continued. ”Think nothing of it. I would like to place a suggested arrangement in front of you which may prove beneficial to us both.” Mycroft unfolded a large sheet of paper in the space between them. “This is Sigerson House, a family property into which I have recently moved.” Her eyes roamed across the plans, taking in the extent and layout of the building.

“Built in the era of servant multitudes, as you can understand, it is more than ample for a contemporary lifestyle.” He pointed to an area of the second floor. “This was, until Mother moved to Sussex, the house keeper’s flat. Neat, self-contained and above all, secure. It is yours if you wish it to be. No strings, no rent. Whilst there may be times when I have to call on your services beyond our usual hours, for the most part once your door is closed, your time will be your own.” He looked up, head tilted at a questioning angle.

Anthea sat back, brain buzzing. “And in return?” she asked

“That you will allow me to assist in the detangling of your legal and personal predicament, the sooner that you are able to regain a full sense of emotional equilibrium, the sooner you will be able to concentrate on your professional duties.”

“Why are you doing all this for me?”

“Put simply, Anthea, I have become aware of how indispensable you are within my work sphere. As I said at the start of this conversation, it all comes down to Maslow.”

She stared at the plan and began to work through its implications. She had to admit the efficency of the solution, at least in the immediate future, which was as far as she could focus at this point.

Mycroft turned to his phone, waiting for her decision. He had responded to five emails before he heard her respond.

“I accept.” A quiet voice but a resolute one.

“Excellent,” He folded away the house plans and stood. “Now I believe that the police have finished with Crieff and would like to take your statement. Try not to keep them waiting. Richardson will then escort you to your flat so that you may gather any urgent necessities. Everything else can follow on after the immediate situation is resolved. “

“ Yes, Sir. “ She stood and straightened her skirt. “Why are you doing all this?”

The look he gave her was impenetrable. “Because you need reminding that real men do not abuse their power. The car will call again for you at three.”

“Yes sir.”

Mycroft watched her leave while he texted.

Get up. I have a job for you. MH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maslow%27s_hierarchy_of_needs
> 
> After all, the British Government needs to have a rational explanation to explain his actions to himself, if not to others.


	6. An idiot with a good heart...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... is better than a genius without one.
> 
>  
> 
> Nothing Carolyn can say can make Martin change his mind. Perhaps she isn't so surprised about that.

“Thank you, Mr Crieff. That has been most helpful. “

“Not a problem.” He leant further back on his pillows. “How’s GERTI?”

Dimmock frowned. “You mean the taxi, Mr Crieff?”

“Sorry, yes. How is she?” Dimmock smiled.

“Remarkably unscathed, all things considered, but then she’s not your average vehicle.”

Martin shot him an almost amused look. “Not anymore.”

Dimmock nodded before continuing.“It appears that the forensic team will be able to release her in the next couple of days. I’ll need your signature on this at some point, but that can wait until you’re up and about. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon.”

The oddly rhythmical click of wood against wood brought Martin back from his doze. It was Carolyn, eyes focused on her latest piece of ferociously complex knitting. The rustle of bed sheets made her look beyond her hands.

“Ah. So good of you to make a reappearance. What took you?”

“Had to talk to the police. Got tired.”

“Hmm. You look parched. Here, drink this.” She rested her knitting on the bed and held the glass to his lips. He drained it slowly.

“Thanks.”

The glass was replaced on the cabinet and the knitting started again.

“You’ve been bloody lucky, according to that consultant chap,“ she continued. “Apparently your skull's thicker than they previously thought.”

“As I’ve been told. And don’t start on the lecture - Anthea got there first.”

“Good for her, because someone needed you to stop this gormless gallantry. You can’t keep wading in like that. Your luck will run out.”

“And what would have had me do? It’s not as if I could have just left her to that thug.”

“But what if he’d had a gun?”

“Well, he didn’t or a particularly sharp knife. Look, Carolyn, if I’d have stood back and let him beat the crap out of her, or worse, I’d either be a hypocrite or a coward, and I ‘ve never intended to be either. I’m sorry you had to get that phone call, but let’s change the subject. How’s Arthur doing on his course?”

“He seems to be loving it, going by the joyously deranged texts he’s sending me. He’s finding it every useful, as well as being the only bloke on the course. Lots of very pretty girls to distract him by the sound of it. “

“Good. No doubt my phone will be similarly assaulted. Does he know about - this?”

“Clearly not, or he’d have been here, festooning every flat surface with get well cards and pestering the staff with his polar bear facts.”

“Small mercies.”

“Perhaps. The house feels strangely spacious and quiet without the pair of your cluttering it up. Have they said when they’ll release you?”

He blinked. “Tomorrow, allegedly, providing I can eat, digest and keep everything where it should be. I’ll not be driving for a while, though.”

“Just as well I’ve got a licence of my own, then.” She stowed her knitting away and leant over the bed. “You focus on mending that head of yours.” A brief, dry kiss landed on his temple, which made him grin.

“Yes, boss.”

_____

“Mrs Knapp-Shappey.”

Mr Holmes.” The lift began its slow descent.

“All well, I trust?”

“Somewhat, although I’ve yet to dissuade that clot from his delusion that he’s the Caped Crusader. Perhaps you will be more successful.”

“We live in hope.” Mycroft glanced towards her. “However, this isn’t the first time he’s diverted a thug to protect someone.” A definite statement, not an enquiry. He obviously knew a great deal more than he let on.

“His moral code is far stronger than his own sense of self-preservation. The daft creature’s going to get himself killed one day.” She spotted a miniscule shake of his head out of the corner of her eye.

“Not under my watch, even if he’s just proved that bravery is the kindest word for stupidity.”

The lift opened on the ground floor. “An idiot with a good heart is better than a genius without one,” observed Carolyn.

Mycroft’s eyebrows twitched. “An interesting philosophy. Whenever did you discover that?”

There was an oddly wry expression on Carolyn’s face. “When I realised that marriage vows meant nothing to a violent man. Good evening.”

“Good evening.” He headed for his own car, but told Richardson to wait until Carolyn was safely on her way before they drove back to the Diogenes.


	7. Familial advantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look at the footage, please. This man needs to be in custody before I get my hands on him. Have also forwarded this to John. MH  
> Don’t start another war, Big Brother. SH  
> Do not tempt me MH
> 
> Mycroft exploits the strongest connection he has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All credit to 3littleowls who beta'd this for me.

I trust I can depend on your support. This is a particularly unpleasant matter. MH  
Tedious. Boring. Irrelevant. SH  
Look at the footage, please. This man needs to be in custody before I get my hands on him. Have also forwarded this to John. MH  
Don’t start another war, Big Brother. SH  
Do not tempt me MH  
Hell. Is that Anthea? JW  
Unfortunately. The injured man is one of my drivers, Martin Crieff. MH  
How is he? JW  
A significant amount of facial damage, cracked ribs, broken wrist, blood loss and concussion. MH  
Skull fracture? Brain damage? JW  
Nothing evident so far, thankfully. Crieff increasingly conscious and verbal. MH  
He’s bloody lucky. Just bundled Himself into a taxi. Will meet you at the Diogenes in twenty minutes. JW  
I am being transported against my will. This case is not worth my time. SH  
It will be made so. MH  
_____  
Sherlock perched on a wing-backed armchair in the Communication Room, his shoes pressing grumpy footprints into the Victorian leather. His fingers were a blurred octopus as he conducted a rapid and increasingly furious conversation with persons unknown by text.  
John glanced through the medical reports Mycroft had given him on arrival. “Mr Crieff has given consent for these to be released ...hasn’t he?”  
Mycroft acknowledged him with a slow blink. " Disclosure of personal details to appropriate authority is a standard part of my staff's employment contracts. Besides, you’re hardly going to blurt it all out to a tabloid rag, are you?” 

“Why are you wasting his time with that?” Sherlock snapped. “It’s not as if it will catch him.”

“It is evidence of Wilson’s capability for violence. That attack took less than two minutes.it appears that only the impending arrival of the police stopped him committing murder. As a result, I am concerned for the safety of my staff for as long as he remains at large," replied Mycroft. ”I wish him caught with the minimum of physical harm to anyone, so that the law will be seen to be served without claims of official brutality, even though that is what I believe he deserves. He will face his real punishment once an appropriate jail term has been served.”  
Sherlock looked up through his eyebrows. “Why bother? Surely one of your droogs could be called into service immediately to reduce him to a spot on the carpet.”  
“Because that would be too quick. He deserves to suffer more than that...” All three men looked around. None of them had even heard the door open.  
John gave Anthea a professional smile. “How are you doing?”  
“Getting there.” she replied.  
He watched her halting walk across the room towards them. “On a scale of one to ten, what’s your pain like at the moment?”  
“About a six and rising, but as my menstrual cramps usually average an eight and a half, I’ll cope.” Her smile was brief but genuine. “Thank you, Doctor.”  
“John, please,” he replied.  
Her eyebrows rose slightly. “I believe Doctor suits you better.” He accepted defeat graciously.  
Sherlock tossed his head derisively. "When you’ve finished with the pleasantries, we’ve got a murderous git to track down.” He vaulted over the back of the chair, eyes blazing.  
“Where are we headed?” asked John.  
“Camden Passage, Islington. To whom are we to deliver him?”  
Mycroft kept his eyes on his papers. “Inspector Dimmock. He’ll be expecting your call.I've already sent his number to your contacts.”  
“How presumptuous of you.”  
”Merely efficiency. I will speak to you later.”  
“Not if I start filtering my calls. “  
John exhanged a glance with the only other sane person in the room. “Evening, Anthea. Try to stay off your feet as much as possible,” he advised before being bundled out of the room.  
“I’ll do my best. Good evening, Doctor," she replied.


	8. Governmental Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are times when the Holmes brothers work together...

Progress Report? MH

WIlson booked into cells at NSY. Relatively undamaged. SH

I wish you would learn to follow instructions. MH

He took a swing at Sherlock. He got what was coming to him from me.JW

How loyal of you. I hope my brother appreciated it. MH

You are now in our debt. I will call this in. SH

Of which I have no doubt. MH

___

Our presence has been requested at NSY. The car will be ready to leave in five minutes. MH

Of course, Sir. A

___

The Jaguar purred to a standstill opposite the rotating sign at New Scotland Yard. The screen between the front and back seats slid away. “ Please find a suitable space in which to wait, RIchardson. I do not expect that this will take long.”

“Certainly, Sir.”

Inspector Dimmock awas waiting for them at the front desk. “Mr Holmes, Ms Milson, thank you for coming. I only require a few moments. It is merely a matter of identification.”

“As I understand,” replied Anthea, feeling less secure than she looked.

“If you’ll follow me, please.” They were led into an observation room.Wilson was sat with his solicitor, opposite a detective neither of them recognised. Anthea paled. Mycroft’s hand drifted onto her shoulder.

“It’s a two-way mirror,” reassured Dimmock. “He can’t see or hear us. I merely require you to formally identify this man.”

Anthea took a moment before replying. “ The man in the grey hoodie is Adrian Wilson, my estranged husband.”

“Thank you, Ms Milson. I appreciate that this has been difficult for you, but with luck he will be appropriately advised by his legal team that a guilty plea is his only option.”

Mycroft’s face flickered slightly. “That can be arranged.”

Dimmock shot him a glare. “I’ll pretend I never heard that.”

“Probably for the best. You have your processes, just as the Ministry have theirs,” replied Mycroft evenly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short - RL is very demanding at the moment, but we're almost there!


	9. A New Normality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where are you? A  
> Leaning against GERTI, approx twenty feet below you. MC  
> He looked up and saw the bombproof curtains twitch on the first floor.  
> Not paying your parking ticket. A  
> No need. Some of us get on remarkably well with traffic wardens. MC  
> What’s your secret? A  
> Charm, a layer of sincerity and ladles of flattery. As learned from Douglas Richardson. MC

It felt good to be allowed outside on his own again. He had rarely been alone in the week since he left hospital, and this was his last chance, since he would be back at work on Monday. A tenacious hope filled his head as he pulled out his phone.  
Freedom? MC  
Alright for some. Still chained to the desk. Where are you? A  
Leaning against GERTI, approx twenty feet below you. MC  
He looked up and saw the bombproof curtains twitch on the first floor.  
Not paying your parking ticket. A  
No need. Some of us get on remarkably well with traffic wardens. MC  
What’s your secret? A  
Charm, a layer of sincerity and ladles of flattery. As learned from Douglas Richardson. MC  
Crieff, good to see that you are back behind the wheel. I will expect to see you in my office at 2.30pm for a forward planning meeting. MH  
Of course, Sir. MC  
Anthea, I have unfortunately been called into a conference call with Seoul. Please make use of my lunch reservation at the Ivy and claim it on your expenses. MH  
Certainly Sir. Thank you. A  
The chains have been loosened. On my way down. Lunch at The Ivy. On MH. Got a tie in your glove box? A  
“No need. Wouldn't dare show up without one.” Martin grinned at her and slid into the driving seat. He watched, disbelieving as Anthea joined him on his side of the glass. “Oh.” He blushed.  
She took pity on him. “This isn’t the inquisition. This is two friends having lunch.”  
“Oh.” That word again. “Good.”  
She glanced across as Martin focused on the road, noticing his contentment.  
“Seatbelt, please,” he reminded.  
“As you wish,” she joked.  
“Is that a new suit?”  
Anthea struggled to control her smile. “Most observant of you. In lieu of a fiscal bonus on the claiming of a favour from Holmes junior.”  
“Looks good on you. “  
“Thank you. And here was me thinking that your eyes were glued to the road.”  
“Peripheral vision has its uses.” He continued towards the West End. “How’s living with the Great One working out?”  
“Fine. My hours have stretched a little, but once I’m in the flat, my time’s my own.” He could hear the smile in her voice, even if he couldn’t see it.  
“So do you think this is likely to be a permanent move?”  
“For the foreseeable. My other lease has been mysteriously paid off, and everything arrived in Highgate a few hours after I did.”  
“Have you heard anything else from the police?”  
“Only that a guilty plea has been entered, and no defence offered. You?”  
“Something similar. At the risk of sounding trite, it might be for the best.”  
“True.” They left it at that.  
\--  
Lunch was a pleasant experience, made more so by the fact it was on Mycroft. Their table was perfectly positioned to give them a full view of the room and the endless parade of the smartly dressed and vaguely familiar. Marks out of ten for style and outrageousness were quietly shared.  
“I never knew you could be so…” For once Anthea struggled for the exact term.  
“Bitchy?” suggest Martin.  
“Perhaps. You don’t seem to be the type caught up in trivialities.”  
His eyebrows quirked at that. “Like someone else I could think of, I’m not always as I seem. “

Their phones chimed in tandem. Lunch was definitely over. 

May I suggest you return to GERTI? The unseasonably light traffic cannot last. MH

“We’ve been summoned,” sighed Anthea. She could have stayed there for hours, but settled the bill anyway.  
“And off we go.” Martin followed her out of the restaurant. His signet ring swivelled under nervous fingers. It was on its fifth orbit as they reached the pavement. ”That was an excellent lunch,” he began.  
She flashed a smile his way. “Made more so by the company. I’d like to do this again, preferably on our own time.” She slid regretfully into the back seat.  
Martin processed her comment, and his eyes lit up. “Oh.” His eyes focused reluctantly on the road. ”I’d like that. Any suggestions?”  
“Let’s see where the Great Overlord sends us next.”  
“Sounds like we’ll be on the move again soon.”  
Anthea checked her phone. “Seems that way.”

ETA seven minutes. A

I take it Stage 1 of Operation Thank you was successful? MH

Apparently so. Lunch or perhaps dinner are on me next. A

You have time on your side. I doubt he’ll look elsewhere. MH

I’ll bear that in mind. Thank you sir. A

“Does his messages ever cease?” asked Martin.

“Rarely, but the sign of a good boss is someone who knows when to step up and when to back away.” She slid her phone into her pocket. ”And we have the good sense to work for the best.”  
Martin’s eyes caught hers in his mirror. “Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it ends, for now. I'd love to know what you thought of it.


End file.
